


We've Come So Far, But Now It's Over

by jellyfish_moon_rise



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Attempted 20s Slang, But just a little, Deforest Kelley is Beautiful, Everyone Is Gay, Fluff, Getting Together, Human Spock (Star Trek), Illegal Activities, M/M, Prohibition, Sad Bones :(, Sad Ending, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:14:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22783909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellyfish_moon_rise/pseuds/jellyfish_moon_rise
Summary: Spock invites Kirk on an adventure. Kirk invites McCoy. Things go wrong.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock, James T. Kirk/Spock, Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	We've Come So Far, But Now It's Over

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for class because fanfiction is the only thing that crosses my mind when it comes to story writing.  
> This is Star Trek AU set in the 1920s. It can be either the original cast or the reboot cast (but Bones has blue eyes either way because I said).  
> Also, I haven't edited it for OOCness or flow, so beware.

A man walked swiftly down the sidewalk. He was rushed; although it was hardly dawn, he was almost late for work. His name was James T. Kirk. A cold breeze chilled him to the bone as he tugged the sides of his coat together. It was fall of 1926, and things were well in the economy. Installment plans had made buying things much easier, and Kirk had been able to save enough money to buy a refrigerator rather than his old ice box. However, he still hadn’t quite enough dough for an automobile. The newest models would take a couple of years of saving to afford.

  
Kirk finally arrived at his workplace: a run-down building that probably never once looked anything other than run-down. Kirk was a reporter and journalist for Times Magazine, the company known for inventing what some people called “muckraking.” Kirk didn’t care what people called him. He made excellent stories, and people bought the magazines. That’s all that mattered to him.

  
Of course, all this wouldn’t be possible without his trusted editor and photographer, Spock. He was foreign, so Kirk couldn’t pronounce his first name, but it didn’t matter because everyone at the workplace so often called each other by their surnames anyway. It had been fairly difficult for Spock to get a job with the stupid Quota System and racism all around. The natives hated foreigners. Except in Harlem, but that was mostly for blacks. Spock wasn’t black. Actually, he was from Europe. From what part, Kirk had no idea, as the man was often very reticent (aside from the occasional sassy remark). But he was a good colleague with an eye for detail. Kirk would almost consider him a friend. If he wasn’t such a jerk.

  
Kirk swooped through a hallway lined with doors to offices. His office was a few floors up. It wasn’t much -- just a dark-wooden desk with an old, beat-up typewriter, a corkboard with countless photos strewn across it, and a leafy plant in the corner -- but it was home. Work was his life, and his work gave others life.

  
Sitting down at the desk, Kirk began to search through his drawers for a certain file. There was a story from yesterday (that Spock had been kind enough to capture photos for) about a flagpole sitting. It had almost broken a record, but not quite. The poor man’s wife had called him down a few hours prior. Kirk had been there to document it, of course, but he hadn’t gotten around to typing up his notes into a story for the pages. The night before had been long: it was always one breaking news story after the other.

  
“You are late,” a familiar voice droned hardly a minute after he had begun typing. Kirk glanced up to see the annoying, albeit welcome, arched eyebrow of his partner.

  
“You know that’s nothing new,” Kirk laughed. Spock’s expression was unamused, but Kirk always secretly thought that he had more of a sense of humor than he let on. He went back to typing, but Spock remained at the doorway. This was odd. He usually left when the conversation dried out.

  
“Got something to say? You’re not one to bump gums.” This earned a nonplussed look from Spock. He was often baffled by the odd expressions of Americans. Kirk grinned.

“I wanted to ask you about a new story I have been working on.” That got Kirk’s attention.

  
“Yeah? What about?” Knowing his partner, it had to be interesting.

  
Spock turned his head toward the door as if he was checking to see if anyone was listening. “I will tell you later. Meet me at 6 pm downtown. There is a speakeasy behind the old bank. I will be waiting for you.”

  
All this was said in that odd flat way that Spock spoke. Kirk was almost bewildered. What about some speakeasy could be so interesting? It had to be pretty high-end, though, Kirk guessed. He hadn’t been aware of its existence, despite being a regular at such places since the beginning of the Prohibition. Could it be a new bootlegger in town threatening the business of others? Or maybe there was something more violent going on that Spock couldn’t risk talking about in the office. Whatever it was, Kirk was obliged to find out.

* * *

  
A couple hours into the workday, there was a lazy knock on the doorframe that once again startled him out of his head.

  
“Feeling a cup o’ joe?” A tired, humorless face framed by a bad case of bed-head stared back at Kirk.

  
“Sure, thanks.” The man made his way over to the desk and set the mug down, taking a not-so-cautious sip of his own piping hot drink. His name was Leonard McCoy, but Kirk liked to call him Bones. It was an old inside joke.

  
“What’s the latest?” Bones droned. Kirk continued typing, finishing his last sentence.

  
“Just a column about the flagpole sitting yesterday. What do you think of these photos?” Kirk handed him an envelope from his desk, and Bones leafed through the pictures.

  
“You’d think after a while they’d realize how stupid this is,” he muttered.

  
“Not bad. Which one do you want me to put in the magazine?” He seemed to be favoring a select two, as those were the ones that he handed back to Kirk first.

  
“I think I like this one,” Kirk said, picking one of the two that Bones liked. He knew that if he didn’t, Bones would just print one of them anyway.

  
“Say, I’ve got a question for you,” Kirk began, getting an idea.

  
“Oh, god, what is it this time?” Kirk had expected this response, but somehow it made him more nervous about asking than usual.

  
“Spock and I are meeting at a new drum tonight. Do you wanna come?” The truth was, he didn’t want to go alone. He had had feelings for Spock for over a year now, and he needed moral support. He didn’t want to do anything stupid, and he knew Bones would keep him in check.

  
“Please tell me this isn’t another one of your crazy ‘cases’ that you shouldn’t be gettin’ into in the first place.”

  
“No! No, no, no. Not at all,” Kirk lied. “We’re just going to get a drink, chat, you know, have a good time.” Bones was not fooled.

  
“Dammit Jim, I’m a printer, not a detective.” He turned to leave, but Kirk knew he would come along.

  
“C’mon, don’t get all sore about it. It’ll be fun!” Kirk smiled as he heard his coworker muttering angrily. He couldn’t wait.

* * *

It was a quiet night for a day in the latter half of the week. The crisp breeze of the day had promptly turned bitter as soon as the sun had set. Spock stood in the alleyway behind the old bank, a dark silhouette against the light-colored wall of the building. He checked his watch; it was a quarter past six. Jim was late.

  
This was unusual. Even though the man was often late to work meetings, he was never untimely when it came to social interactions.

  
Soon, the pitter-patter of footsteps awoke Spock from his thoughts. Now he knew why.

  
Jim was approaching him -- wearing his usual casual garb; his tan coat and a collared shirt -- but he was dragging Leonard McCoy behind him.

  
Spock was not pleased, but hell if he would let it show.

  
“So, what’s the deal with this place?” McCoy asked loathingly. “Is the bootlegger turning the guests into aliens or somethin’?”

  
“That is a highly irrational guess, Leonard,” Spock shot back. He tapped on the entrance in a secret pattern that his acquaintance had taught him when he had asked. He had connections in the right places, it seemed. As the door swung open, he could hear the sound of live music drifting up the stairs, accompanied by a golden light and the reflection of something sparkling on the stairs.

  
As they entered, Spock began to speak.

  
“I believe it would be a convenient time to reveal that I have purposely misled you about the true nature of our meeting, Jim.” He didn’t meet his eyes, but he could almost hear the realization of both of his friends as they stepped into the room.

  
Across from them was the bar, stocked full with bottles upon bottles of illegal liquor. Above them floated a crystal chandelier, no doubt the source of the reflected particles of light on the stairs. To the left was a stage with a jazz band playing sonorously as people filled the dance floor, twisting this way and that, sweaty bodies gleaming in the golden light.

  
Spock led his entourage across the floor to the bar. As he sat down, he continued to avoid Kirk’s eyes. This had not begun as expected.

Kirk felt his face flush as he realized what Spock was implying. Of course it was a date! What a stupid idea to invite Bones. Now it would just be awkward.

  
Next to him, he felt Bones stiffen. This was a mistake.

  
Kirk looked over his shoulder at his friend. There was something wrong. He was frozen, his face gone pale.

  
“Bones?”

  
He seemed to snap out of it immediately, shaking his head and continuing on his way to the bar.

  
Kirk glanced around the room, his eyes falling on the dance floor. Short-haired flappers in dazzling dresses twirled and twisted. On any other night, they would catch his eye, but he was here with someone who could provide more than just one meaningless night of intimacy.

  
His gaze fell to Spock, who was already seated at the bar and ordering a drink. Spock turned to lock eyes with him, and Kirk felt the world drop out beneath him. There was something about his eyes that felt like he was reading his mind or probing into his soul.

  
Kirk plopped into a seat next to Spock, still holding his gaze, hypnotized in the feeling behind them. The pure want. It had never once before occurred to Kirk that Spock could possibly love him back, but now there was no denying it.

McCoy found his seat on the other side of Kirk. He watched the way Spock looked at him and felt a burning in his chest. He wasn’t angry, no, he couldn’t be. It was jealousy. He knew he liked Spock from the moment he met him. Sure, he was frustrating at times, but he couldn’t think of anyone better. He was in love with Spock. But Spock was in love with Jim. Now all he could do was watch.

* * *

“May I inquire as to why you felt compelled to bring McCoy to our meeting?” Spock asked.

  
“Oh, I don’t know,” Kirk shot back. “Maybe because you told me this would be an adventure, not a date!”

  
“I do not believe ‘adventure’ was the exact word I used.”

  
“Well, either way, it’s awkward now. Just look at him,” Kirk motioned to McCoy over his shoulder. “He’s traumatized.”

  
Spock followed Kirk’s hand motion instinctively, and his face fell flat, no longer in the joking mood.

  
McCoy seemed to be absorbed in staring at his drink, almost empty despite the short time they had been there. He was making no apparent movements, his eyes glazed over. He seemed to be disassociating. This was unusual. McCoy was a very grounded man.

  
Kirk seemed to notice the change in Spock’s face and followed his gaze.

  
“Bones? You alright?”

  
He gave no response, not even the flicker of an eyelid.

  
“Bones?” Kirk tentatively placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder, and McCoy started, almost jumping out of his seat.

  
“Hey, hey,” Kirk pulled his hands back defensively. “No need to get worked up. What’s wrong?”

  
There was an almost wild look in his eyes as McCoy glanced around the room. He was undoubtedly overwhelmed.

  
“Nothing… I… I just need to use the restroom. I’ll be right back.”

  
Spock and Kirk watched him go without a word.

  
When he was out of sight, Kirk let out a frustrated sigh.

  
“Jesus, this was a horrible idea.”

  
“You say that as if it were not obvious, Jim.”

  
Kirk glared at Spock. “Why didn’t you just make it obvious in the first place? You know how I feel about you, so why didn’t you just say it outright like a normal person?”  
Spock was silent for a beat. Finally, he spoke softly, almost embarrassed. “I am afraid that I was not aware of the nature of your feelings toward me. Would you care to elaborate?” Spock didn’t meet Kirk’s eyes, even though he felt them burning into his skull.

  
“Okay,” Kirk breathed. Hesitantly, he reached out and grasped Spock’s hand in his. He felt Spock’s breath hitch. In Spock’s culture, it was taboo to hold, or even touch hands. It was considered an act of affection only engaged between lovers and only to be done in private.

  
But he didn’t move away. Instead, Spock locked eyes with Kirk and drew him in for a kiss. It was soft and short, but it left Kirk smiling.

  
Kirk could have sworn he also caught a twitch at the corner of Spock’s lips.

  
That was when McCoy returned.

  
There was something in his watery blue eyes that turned Kirk’s stomach. There was something wrong, but if it hurt him that much, there was no way that he would feel compelled to talk about it, even though Kirk was his best friend.

  
He sat down in his seat and forced a smile. “So you finally did it, huh?”

  
Kirk laughed breathlessly. “Yeah.”

  
McCoy was acutely aware of Spock’s eyes burning into him. Instead of meeting his gaze, he ordered another drink.

  
“Congrats, you queers,” he mumbled teasingly. It was all the humor he could muster as he spotted his friends’ interlocked hands. He downed his drink, and it burned on the way down, but he didn’t care.

  
“Well now that it’s settled that neither of you want me here, I guess I’ll be taking my leave,” McCoy said, tipping the bartender and pushing himself out of his seat.

  
Kirk and Spock suddenly both started speaking at once.

  
“Woah, woah, Bones. No one said that.”

  
“I believe you have misunderstood our opinion on your presence, Leonard.”

  
“Then what’s with that look on your face, Spock?”

  
Spock was silent.

  
“Don’t think I didn’t notice how you looked at me when I showed up with Jim. If you wanted me gone, you should’ve just said in the first place.”

  
Before either Kirk or Spock could protest, he was gone.

  
Kirk put his head in his hands.

  
“This is all my fault.”

“I disagree, Jim. It was I who did not make the nature of my invitation clear.”

  
Kirk didn’t reply.

* * *

It was almost one in the morning when Kirk went home. Although he had stayed at the speakeasy for quite a while with Spock, neither of them had said much to each other.

  
It had only occurred to Kirk later why Bones had been upset. Of course, he had thought. Bones used sarcasm as a defense mechanism. He was in love with Spock. How could Kirk have been so blind? All those snide comments anytime Spock would enter the room contrasted with the occasional wandering of his eyes couldn’t mean anything else.

  
But Kirk didn’t tell Spock this. Instead, he buried his nose in his glass until Spock finally found the decency to dismiss their meeting.

  
Kirk turned on the radio out of habit as soon as he got home. He wasn’t particularly feeling up to his usual sing-along session, but he found that the quiet buzz soothed his rampaging thoughts. Still, he found certain questions came to light as he laid back on his bed. What would he say to Bones tomorrow? Would he even try again with Spock? Tonight was a disaster.

  
Soon, he found the hum of the radio and alcohol in his veins lulled him to sleep, hoping, as the ever-optimistic man he was, that it would all turn out all right.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Also, a note to those reading my other fic, I'm sorry I haven't posted in so long! I've been so busy with schoolwork, and the plot still needs to be filled in a bit. Thank you for your patience.


End file.
